


some other place warm

by ChaosMidge (NotQuiteInsane)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (except bertie), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Bloodplay, Consensual Kink, Consensual bondage, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kink Negotiation, Knife Kink, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, Other, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotQuiteInsane/pseuds/ChaosMidge
Summary: The lines run red with deceptive sluggishness.Sasha's eyes follow the curve of a rib and the dull glint of the knife and the slow beading of blood to the surface. The cuts aren't deep, not yet. Just enough to feel. Just enough to mark. Just enough toitchwhen the requisite time has passed.She traces each line with delicate fingers and, like an artist's brush, color follows behind.Sasha does Cel a favor. As a friend.
Relationships: (can be read as), Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith, Sasha Racket & Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom, Sasha Racket & Zolf Smith, Sasha Racket/Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23





	some other place warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GretaRavencliff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretaRavencliff/gifts).



> Thank you thank you thank you to Mike for your assistance as Beta (lovely and supremely helpful as always <3) and to everyone on When In Rome discord server. I think I say this every time, but y'all are genuinely the most supportive and wonderful people. Thanks for encouraging my blood- and knife- everything. The loveliest. <3 Many thanks also to Stanley for advice. Incredibly grateful. ;w;
> 
> Title from "Blossom" by Kerli.

The lines run red with deceptive sluggishness.

Sasha's eyes follow the curve of a rib and the dull glint of the knife and the slow beading of blood to the surface. The cuts aren't deep, not yet. Just enough to feel. Just enough to mark. Just enough to _itch_ when the requisite time has passed.

She traces each line with delicate fingers and, like an artist's brush, color follows behind.

In the middle of the sixth cut, Sasha wonders at the sound her knife makes as it runs through Cel's skin. A subtle thing. More a sense of the vibration through the metal than any audible noise. Even so, it’s enough to make her breath catch in her chest, to make her heart beat loudly in the near silence.

Sasha swallows audibly and beneath her, Cel shivers.

They can’t do much but let out shuddering whimpers as Sasha bends down and blows on the slick trails of blood. Gooseflesh rises across their back and their hips squirms as much as the ropes binding them allows.

Sasha leans close and into Cel's ear mutters, "Stop that." As she moves, the black fabric of her undershirt brushes the reddened lines and Cel twitches. The shark tooth grin that splits her lips holds a faint tinge of pride.

_"And you're sure you want the, you know, the like, restraints?" Sasha sat with a piece of paper in front of her, the messy scrawl of notes illegible to anyone but her. "The, like, everything else will be a lot? If we're going to—I just need to know you're—that this is fine. That you'll be..."_

_Cel nodded, uncharacteristically bashful. "Yes. I would feel safer that way, I think. It's, um, the binding helps. A gag would also keep me from talking too much? As we both know, I tend to babble? And it helps ground me? In lieu of safe words, I can snap once for slow down and snap with both hands multiple times for stop?" The last sentence fell from their mouth in a rush, like they could no longer be contained by nerves or the wall of teeth. They’d bitten their lip_ _. "If... if that's okay?"_

_Sasha jotted it down._

The intricate tracery of red looks different than Sasha expects. She's seen a lot of blood in her time, but she supposes that Cel isn't human. Half-elf is new for Sasha. She leans down and examines the deeper line of color that runs from the small of Cel's back to the nape of their neck. (It took an intense amount of concentration and control to keep that line steady. Cel whined through their gag, overcome with the effort of keeping still. Sasha praised them for it.)

Cel's blood is... brighter than Sasha expected. It has a singular sheen to it that can't just be an artifact of the steady lamplight. Curious, she flicks out her tongue to taste and is greeted with the familiar tang of sweet iron.

Cel lets out a slow hiss of breath and Sasha strokes their yet unblemished hip with gentle fingers.

_When Sasha asked the question she_ _had been most apprehensive about, Cel's uneven, slightly singed eyebrows rose in surprise. She felt_ _her heart drop and tried to amend herself. "Um. No, sorry. That's... that's too far. I shouldn't have, like—"_

_Cel shook their head vigorously. "No! No, that's fine. I just didn't expect it! I have regular checks with healers for bloodborne illnesses—a hazard of some of the materials I work with. You know, mercury is useful! But dangerous in certain configurations! And there are various chemical solvents that like to mess with your—" Cel stopped themself and smiled. "What I mean is it's fine, Sasha."_

_Sasha breathed a sigh of relief and ticked her box labeled, [blood drinking?]._

Beneath that rich and familiar taste is an electric tingle that is entirely different than what she is expecting. Sasha guesses it’s was something to do with Cel's profession. That kind of magic... What are the chances it doesn't change a person in unexpected ways?

As parts of her work farther up the half-elf's back begin to clot, Sasha makes sure to run her nails over the raised skin lightly, just enough to break the seal, not to do anymore actual damage. She knows well enough the lovely burning sensation it will cause. All the lines are raised and puffy by this point. She wonders whether the swelling helps to stop blood flow.

She bets that Cel can tell her when they’re done.

Sasha sets down the razor-sharp blade and picks up another, careful to examine it for nicks and dirt. They have healers at the ready for afterward, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't use caution. It’s bad manners as much as it puts every bone in her body on edge. Dirty wounds get infected. Infection can ruin a person.

_“I'll need to, um, talk to Zolf about this. I don't know if you're comfortable with that, like, sharing your business, but I don't—with as much as you—I... I don't want lasting damage from this. And I think you don't either? So a healer would be... would be good, yeah?"_

_A look of worry flashed across Cel's expressive face. "Mr... Mr. Smith? If—if the healer is non-negotiable for you, because, you know, I can use a healing potion or keep the wounds clean myself, I am somewhat accomplished in the medical sciences, but—well…_ _Are you sure that, maybe, for example, Azu? Or maybe even Grizzop might not be the wiser choice?"_

_Sasha shook her head. "I'd rather Zolf. He's actually... he's done this for me before. Um... a while ago. There were some... A friend_ _... of ours. Well, they wanted me to do some work on them. And it was... it was informative? For Zolf, I mean. And he said he'd be willing—glad, even!—to help again." She paused. "If this ever came up. Our friend hasn't wanted it since, but..."_

_Cel's barely concealed nerves faded somewhat. Perhaps it was just that they didn't know Zolf's experience or acceptance involving this sort of thing. They both knew how some of his self-destructive tendencies manifested and neither wanted him to think poorly of them for indulging in something that most thought unorthodox._

_But after a pause, Cel nodded their head. "Alright. Mr. Smith it is, then. But... if there's going to be a healer on hand, anyway, could we talk about, perhaps, other... avenues of approach?"_

Sasha looks at the latticework of cuts across Cel's back and releases a lungful of air she didn't know she'd been holding. It’s an intricate pattern, one that follows the lines of bone and muscle with precision to the millimeter. This is as much for Sasha as it is a favor to a friend. She feels an internal warmth at the show of skill, at the knowledge that she can hold her hands and her friend this steady.

When it comes to people, to interaction and words and fiddly will-they-won't-they scenarios, she gets uncertain. But this is something else. This is something with which they both have experience and that they both can understand. The conversations they'd had leading up to Sasha being straddled across Cel's back, knives out, hands bloody, had been as awkward as anyone who knew the two would have expected. A lot of back and forth, of interrupted half-sentences and stammering.

As soon as the small leather case of knives had come out of the deepest recesses of Sasha's pack, though, the air between the two had changed. Charged with something neither of them could name, but that both recognized as what they needed.

The knife that Sasha selects now is narrower, thinner. She'd once seen a grown man stare at it, swallow, and look away while muttering something about _fillets_. She hadn't known why that made him so nervous. Especially not when some ask for this specifically.

Sasha runs the back of it along Cel's side, where there are numerous drips but no actual cuts to be had. She can feel Cel shifting as they feel the cold metal dance across their skin. A deep breath in and out is enough to crack a few scabs. Sasha makes sure to touch each of the ones that crack with careful reverence. She puts her palm flat on Cel's back, between the shoulder blades, and they settle.

They nod their head for her to continue.

They both know what is coming next.

_“As long as we are going to have a healer on hand anyway..."_

_They had neared the end of their talk and Sasha's list had grown long. She looked up from the small notebook at Cel, head cocked slightly to the side. "Yeah?"_

_Cel chewed on their lower lip and Sasha could see how chapped it was. She wanted to reach over and stop the nervous tic_ _—something about it bothered her—but didn't._

_"As long as we're going to have a healer on hand anyway, could we... could we go a bit further than, well, than we've talked about thus far? I mean, there's not a lot I can't come back from—not that I'm saying I want to bleed out or anything!" They finally clocked Sasha's usually unexpressive eyebrows lowered in concern. "No, no, far from it! I promise you. There's just... there are some things that I haven't been able to delve into with other partners. And while it's been a long time, I know my limits and I think I can trust you with them."_

_That raised a small flag for Sasha, but she motioned that Cel continue anyway._

_"If you... if you wanted to get a bit deeper than you usually do. If you wanted to do some excision work, for example, I wouldn't be opposed. And if there were things you wanted to try out on me, I'm willing to talk about those things too, since, you know, we've mostly been talking about what_ I _want out of this and I thought that you might, you know, have some other thoughts that you wanted to get out there? Have some other experiences?"_

_Sasha sat back in her chair and consciously did not put a hand to one of her daggers—speaking of nervous tics_ _. She chose her words carefully, needing her companion to know how serious she was taking this question. "Is this... Cel. I don't want you to think I'm not open to negotiation, but I also need you to tell me what this is about? Cos... Cos if your desire to go deeper is... is, like—" Sasha struggled for a moment to find the words, to phrase them in a way that wasn't accusatory. "I want to make sure you're not trying to punish yourself for something. Cos that's... not what I came into this willing to do."_

_Cel's face had gone through a gamut of expressions before settling on something close to sheepishness. "Of course. I'm... yes. That makes sense, Sasha. And I—I promise that it wasn't what I meant, but if it makes you uncomfortable, we can stay away from that for now. Later on, I mean, if you want there to be a next time, that is, I would maybe like to revisit it?"_

_Sasha nodded, glad that Cel understood her limitations._

In the end, they decided that a small delving into heavier play would be acceptable. So, Sasha takes a deep breath and makes the cut, feeling the skin part below her fingers with the ease afforded by her chosen blade. This pass of the knife is a few inches long, one of the trickier cuts she has made during this session, but controlled. So controlled as to take the entirety of her focus.

As soon as the tip has parted the top layer of skin from the flesh below, Sasha presses her hand down upon it and continues to breathe. She can feel Cel shaking slightly below her, their inhales even less steady than the exhales. She thinks she knows what Cel is feeling.

She's feeling the same thing.

Slowly, careful not to break the seal on the flap of skin she's allowed to rest, Sasha removes her hand and poises the blade on the other side of Cel's spine. The skin there is already streaked with red and flaking brown from earlier, but she knows where to put the metal even with the mottling. She knows the skin and musculature of living forms as well as she knows the intricacies of the most complicated locks. Every mechanism has a preferred way of coming apart, and Sasha prides herself on learning every single one to the best of her ability.

The blade goes in, a hiss comes out of Cel, and Sasha places her hand over the newly parted flap as carefully as the last. The cuts are perfectly symmetric. She smiles and feels the flush of pride on her neck like an approving hand.

An... approving...

Sasha freezes.

Mustering as much control as she's able, she places the knife back on the sideboard and puts her hands on the bed at either side of Cel's torso. She leans forward and places her forehead to the place between their shoulder blades and closes their eyes.

"I... I need a second." Her voice is raw. Despite the silence of the room, she feels like she's been screaming and she doesn't know whether it’s a memory or something to do with the burning in her eyes or an artifact of—

“ _I know we talked about the snapping. As a replacement for a safe word, I mean. That's important. Safe words and mechanisms are important, so I'm surprised I almost forgot, but well, I've been very interested in the proceedings this far so—"_

_Sasha had held back a smile at Cel's sudden enthusiasm. Now that the majority of the negotiation had been finished, they were just doing the detail work. "You said one hand for slow down before, both for stop, yeah?”_

_“Yes, but I was thinking, now that we’ve been delving into possibilities of a more complex scene than I originally was prepared for, should we have different signals? A little more nuanced, but still possible to remember if I’m otherwise preoccupied, of course._

_Sasha had thought for a moment and then suggested, “One for slow down, two for something is wrong, three for full stop?"_

_Cel had nodded a few times, goggles tottering precariously from their excitement. "Yes, that sounds perfect! Thank you. I was trying to think of some sort of other system I could rig up, a bell or a tapping signal, but that’s overly complicated, probably. Number of snaps is much better. And I’m not sure if tapping could even be heard on a bed. Wait, or are we doing this on a table? Floor? Either way we're going to need to put cloths or towels down or something—"_

_Sasha hadn't managed to hide her smile that time._

Two snaps.

Sasha's head whips up and she immediately leans forward and pulls the loops to release Cel's hands from bondage. She's finding it difficult to focus, but she thinks she hears a moan as they turn beneath her and undo their gag. She wants to protest that the wounds on their back will open back up if they do that, that it's unsafe, that they might get infected, that they have to be _careful_ , they don't know what will happen—

"Sasha. Sasha, look at me." Cel's voice is slurred, like they're drowsy, waking up from a deep sleep or a deep... deep something. But Sasha can't pinpoint the... the _thing_ there. She's...

She looks at Cel, eyes blurry with... tears?

"Sasha, you're here. You're safe. Who are you?"

"I... 'm Sasha Racket. 'm a..." Sasha frowns down at the half-elf beneath her, sees the glittering eyes, the wrecked hair, the mutilated part of their ear. She sees streaks of dried blood down their shoulders—it had dripped at some point, she hadn't noticed, but she _should_ have noticed. "I'm Sasha Racket. I'm a... a mercenary."

Cel's voice is starting to pull back into their normal tones, though still a bit gravely. "You're Sasha Racket. You're a friend. You're a promising alchemist and a wonderful traveling companion. You're a hard worker and tell very good puns. You're a friend. You care. Sasha?"

"I'm..." Sasha examines Cel's face for deception, desperately looking for... she doesn't know what for. She doesn't know if she _wants_ to find a lie in their earnest eyes, but... "I'm... can we take a break?"

Cel smiles and the lines around their eyes make a welcoming picture. "Of course. C'mere." They pull Sasha down into their side and pillow her head on their shoulder. She doesn't care that there's blood there. They're both covered already. It's just... it's just set dressing at this point.

Sasha listens to Cel breathing, feels their chest rise and fall, traces the lines of their chest and hips and shorts and the living flush of their skin. She closes her eyes and tries to match their breathing with her own.

It's slow.

It's nice.

It's familiar.

Sasha feels it as an almost physical thing when she comes back to herself, when she realizes what happened. It makes sense in a small way. It makes sense, even if it isn't something that's happened in a long time.

_He's not important_ , she reminds herself. And she knows it to be true. She feels it to be true.

He's not. Not anymore.

Sasha places a grateful kiss on Cel's shoulder and pulls herself up. "I'm good, I think. Do... do you need anything? Is it... are we done? Or... there were a few more things, like, that we'd talked about? Um..."

Cel smiles again, that radiant thing that Sasha has always appreciated about them. "I could use some water. I'm not sure if my legs will hold me, if I'm being honest."

Sasha smiles back and fetches them a glass.

When Cel is back in their place, arms tied to the headboard, gag left aside by request, Sasha examines their wounds. She checks over every single stroke and both larger flays to make sure that they haven't been knocked askew or broken open by Cel's sudden movements earlier. The right shoulder blade's flay is oozing sluggishly, so Sasha presses down and smooths the skin, realigning the edges and running a gentle finger over them to seal them once again. If Sasha knows what she's doing—and she does—they will heal without a scar.

Every other scab has cracked a little, but none look as though they've been ripped ragged. She nods in approval and traces the lines with gentle fingers. Cel's breathing quickens and she smiles.

She's doing that a lot, she notes distantly.

It's... nice.

Sasha continues to trace. Down the spine, across each arching rib, the neat parallel lines above each kidney, and the small nicks just above their waistband that had been a small experiment. Sasha presses into these with her thumbs and Cel lets her, relaxing their back muscles and sinking. When she pulls away, she can see her fingerprints in the delicate skin.

"I'm going to go deeper this time. You're ready? A yes or no."

"Yes." The word is more of a croak than a vocalization, but Sasha accepts it. She's not sure Cel is capable of more after sinking back into the endorphins.

Sasha reaches across and takes her final blade from the side table. It's curved and, while sharp, not as thin as the last one.

"These will hurt. You're sure?"

"Yes."

Sasha nods, knowing that Cel can't see her. She settles into place where she's straddling their thighs and surveys the soft skin of Cel's waist. They've stuck to the planes of their back thus far. It's a wide canvas, mottled with other scars and marks from their long life, but it is deftly familiar from Sasha's sessions with other people. She's done work on thighs and shoulders and upper arms before, too, but softer skin, less supported by bone and muscle...

She's eager to test her skills on this part of Cel.

The tip of the curved blade pricks the skin on Cel's waist, between the bottom of their ribs and the top of their hipbones. Their breath hitches and Sasha places her free hand over their spine as an anchor.

They settle.

Good.

Sasha presses in and the knife slides up and through the flesh like butter. It catches slightly on the way out, but a bit more pressure and it slides free.

Cel whimpers as the blood starts to flow freely, thick and hot, out and onto the layers of towels that were laid out in advance. The reason that they'd left this for last is apparent. It's more than any of the others had bled and if they leave this too long, the necessary healing will be more intensive. Cel had said they were okay with that, but Sasha is mindful of the possibility of long-term repercussions.

Sasha runs her fingers through it and tastes it again. This time it's still warm, less sticky as it has had less time to clot and dry. The iron taste is less prominent, and she can detect hints of the sweetness and strange, staticky undertones. She savors it for a moment, letting her eyes fall closed and taking a deep breath.

When she is ready to open them again, she finds her place on Cel's side, just below the first incision. She another rend in the flesh and watches as the blood drips forth. It's doing a remarkable job of spreading through the towels before congealing, clotting, thickening, drying.

Sasha moves her attention to the other side and mirrors the marks in quick succession, more confident in the required pressure and positioning this time. Cel's voice goes high on the second of the set and Sasha runs a hand down the mark on their spine as they shudder through the rush of endorphins. They sigh gratefully at the additional contact, but it bleeds into another moan as Sasha sets down the knife and puts her hand to their new wounds. She spreads the blood up and over Cel's back, feeling it grow tacky and rough in just moments with the additional handling.

When Cel's back is painted in arcs of red over the underlying texture of scab and scar and still-smooth skin, Sasha looks down and sighs contentedly. The blood on her own pale skin is oddly satisfying and she raises her hands to stare at them.

Saturated, she thinks. Covered.

Coveted.

Sasha smiles, places a lingering kiss to that special place between Cel's shoulder blades, and then leans up to whisper in their ear.

"Thank you. You did so well for me. Now relax, and we'll take care of you."

Sasha runs her hands softly over Cel's shoulders, feeling the trembling and rubbing it away with stained hands going sticky. She presses her fingers into the muscle of their lateral pectorals, strained from bondage, and feels them gradually relax.

She places a quick, appreciative kiss to the back of Cel's neck, thanks them again, and slowly dismounts, careful to watch for any negative reaction at the loss of contact. When none is seen, Sasha goes to the door and calls softly for Zolf.


End file.
